


H&D Soulmate AU

by wolfwithpanthereyes



Category: Houdini & Doyle (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, Mutually Unrequited, Possibly Pre-Slash, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24909904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithpanthereyes/pseuds/wolfwithpanthereyes
Summary: Five letters of loopy cursive tucked in the underside of his wrist.
Relationships: Arthur Conan Doyle & Harry Houdini
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	H&D Soulmate AU

The word was no wider than Houdini’s thumbnail, five letters of loopy cursive tucked in the underside of his wrist. Without the aid of a magnifying glass, Houdini would have to squint to read; as it is, he knew the word by heart. 

So when he strolled across the street with a plan in mind to buy the evening paper, he wasted no time in abandoning that plan and choosing instead to stare at the name fixed on the cover of a nearby magazine. 

“New Adventure of SHERLOCK HOLMES By CONAN DOYLE”

He shelled out an extra sixpence, tucked both newspaper and magazine under his arm, and headed for the nearby park. 

The next morning, he sent his first letter to Doyle. It was a civil note. Polite, concise. Would Doyle perhaps like to meet, upon Houdini’s upcoming tour of England? Nowhere did Houdini write “Oh, and by-the-by, do you happen to have my name upon your wrist?” 

By the time Doyle responded, Houdini had laid claim to every work of the man’s he could find. Not because Doyle’s name was etched into his skin, but because Houdini found he genuinely enjoyed the Holmes stories. If this Doyle was his Doyle - well, at least he could write well. 

Houdini sought out the signature on Doyle’s answering letter before glancing at the contents itself and - wouldn’t you know it? - there was the loopy cursive and the tiny crescent of the E. A perfect match to the word on Houdini’s wrist. 

\---  
“Your true name,” the old woman persists.

Houdini gives a genuine smile in return, and replies, “Erik Weisz.” 

There’s a loud smash, Adelaide exclaims “Doyle!”, and only then does Doyle realise he’s dropped the teacup. There’s hot tea dampening his trouser leg and the cup lies in bone-white pieces on the flagstones. 

“Ah, I’m - terribly sorry! Terribly sorry!” Doyle jumps to his feet quickly, assisting Adelaide in gathering the shattered china. His hands are quivering as he moves each piece to the tabletop, as Houdini says something about how clumsy their companion is and he’ll buy her an entire new teaset as compensation. 

Buying a new teaset for a woman who believes in goblins is the last worry on Doyle’s mind. 

Adelaide touches her hand to his arm, asking in a low voice, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Doyle mutters back. “Perfectly fine.” 

Adelaide doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, her mouth set in a grim line, but Doyle straightens up before she can say anything more. 

“Thank you for your time, Ma’am, this has been - very enlightening indeed.” Is it Doyle’s imagination, or is Houdini staring at him a little more pointedly than usual? “Yes, well - I must send a postcard to Mary and Kingsley before it gets dark. I promised them that much. You two remain here, and I’ll see you at the inn.”

He leaves before they can object, waiting until he’s well out of eyesight of Martha’s cottage before collapsing against a handy elm. He drags the cuff of his shirt down, removing the plain strip of fabric covering his wrist, and -

_Weisz._ Five scribbled letters forming a name no longer than Doyle’s thumbnail, a name that Doyle has sought to hide since his courtship with Touie began. Doyle rubs the thumb of his opposing hand across the letters, as if to erase them, but they remain tucked into the crease of his wrist as firmly as they have since Doyle’s birth. 

It must be a different Weisz. Houdini has never given any indication that Doyle’s name was the one of his own wrist, none at all. 

“For a man claiming to be alright, you certainly don’t look it.” 

Doyle gives a start, and Adelaide gives a wry smile in return. 

“You shouldn’t creep up on people like that, you know?”

“There’d be no fun otherwise.” Her tone is light but her eyes are still severe. Adelaide made a remarkable peeler but England was missing out on an excellent governess. “You’re as jumpy now as you were back at Martha’s.”

Doyle groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Where’s Houdini?” 

“Martha’s force-feeding him kneadle, apparently. He’s rather keen on it.” The corners of her mouth turn and suddenly she is less a governess, more a woman. Doyle would have to be oblivious not to have noticed her growing fondness for the magician over the past months. 

A magician whose name may or may not be written upon his wrist. 

“I fancied fresh air,” Doyle replies shortly, retying the band on his wrist as inconspicuously as he can. God Forbid she catch sight of it. “All this talk of goblins, visitors from outer space - it’s hard to get a grasp on.” 

“And yet you’re the one chasing after spirits in most of our cases.” 

“That - that’s different.” 

“Clearly,” Adelaide replied, in a voice that means anything but.


End file.
